


Sk8er Boi

by leighwrites



Series: Tumblr Prompts [1]
Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: M/M, Tumblr Prompt, Woops, because i do those once in a while
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-14 03:49:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15380019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leighwrites/pseuds/leighwrites





	Sk8er Boi

**Author's Note:**

  * For [richttps](/users/richttps/gifts), [tinyarmedtrex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinyarmedtrex/gifts).



Richie Tozier had been dating Stanley Uris for exactly two years and in that time Stan had _never_ seen him struggle to write a song before. They were currently gathered at the studio, Richie standing at the mic idly strumming his guitar deep in thought while Stan sat off to the side and wrote diligently in his notebook, determined to both finish his work for his finance class _and_ spend time with his boyfriend.

“Fuck.” Richie muttered as he hit a wrong chord, and Stan’s head snapped up from his work.

Richie’s guitarist, Beverly, reached out and put a hand to Richie’s arm before he could throw his guitar in frustration. “Take your time Rich.”

Eddie idly twirled one of his drumsticks in his hand with a sigh. “If you’d just try to write the song _before_ the melody you wouldn’t have this much trouble.”

“I’ve _always_ done it like this and you know that!” Richie snapped back over his shoulder. Eddie raised a middle finger in his direction. “Real nice Kaspbrak.”

“Fuck you Tozier.”

“That’s Mike’s job!”

Eddie opened his mouth to snap a retort but closed it quickly and rethought whatever he was about to say. “Beep, beep you fucking asshole.”

Stan shook his head in mild amusement, looking back down at his work. It had always amazed him that Richie’s bandmates hadn’t murdered him by now, but Stan supposed that growing up in the same town as each other since birth had helped them get used to the shit that often came out of Richie’s mouth.

Off to his side, Mike chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “You know Ben or myself can help you with lyrics, right?”

Richie’s head snapped back to where Mike and Stan were sitting, face contorting into a grin. “I know, and I appreciate the offer, Mikey, but I like to come up with these things on my own.”

Mike never took it personally. He understood. Richie’s music was personal to him. He poured his heart, soul, and even his ability to do weird voices into them and Mike admired that.

“Just don’t make another fucking song about a clown.” Beverly huffed, fiddling with the strap of her own guitar. “We did _not_ need that.”

Richie shot her a thumbs up, grin still on his face, adjusted his guitar strap and tried again. Stan tapped his pen against the page of his notebook in time with the chords Richie played, a subconscious action that he’d picked up from living with with Richie since the start of college.

A faint buzzing caught Stan’s attention and he hunted out his phone, staring at the name that flashed across his screen under a picture of an envelope. _Big Bill_ . Stan furrowed his brow, unsure of _why_ he suddenly had a text from Bill. No one had heard from him since he’d started to date Audra; not even Stan who had been friends with Bill since they were five years old.

Stan swiped the keypad, unlocked the phone and opened the message.

 **From:** **_Big Bill_ **

**Cn u come get me?**

 

 **To:** **_Big Bill_ **

**Can I get that in English, Bill?**

 

 **From:** **_Big Bill_ **

**Fck english. Cn u?**

Stan sighed, tapping away on his phone.

 **To:** **_Big Bill_ **

**Yeah, where are you?**

 

 **From:** **_Big Bill_ **

**Audra’s.**

 

 **To:** **_Big Bill_ **

**Give me ten minutes and be outside waiting for me, Denbrough.**

Stan groaned, locking the phone and shoving it back into his pocket before snapping his notebook shut.

“Stan? Are you okay?” Richie asked with a look of concern. Beverly had a similar look on her own face, mostly because she rarely saw Stan agitated.

Stan shoved his notebook into his backpack roughly. “I have to go get Bill from Audra’s.”

Richie’s face softened. “Yeah, okay. I’ll see you at home.”

 

**-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-**

 

Home was originally a rundown studio apartment that two college students could barely afford but made work. It had been a musty white colour when they’d bought it, the water had been running brown, and there was at least _one_ broken window and a stove that just _didn’t fucking work._

Eddie had fixed up the rusty pipes for them, cursing the entire time because ‘mechanics and plumping were so fucking different’. Mike had helped them find an affordable stove, helped them get new windows, and Richie, Stan, and Beverly had painted the whole apartment in a soft blue colour.

Richie never got tired of seeing it, even now, when he walked in to Stan stretched across the sofa and Bill sleeping on him. Richie closed the door silently, removed the guitar from his back, and placed it carefully onto the table.

Bill had been spending a lot of time at their apartment over the last few weeks, and Richie never asked why. He didn’t mind the sudden increase in Bill’s presence. Most of their friends found it _weird_ that Richie was completely fine with Bill constantly there, and he was getting constant warnings from his bandmates.

Because Stan had liked Bill since they were thirteen years old and shared a kiss a part of a dare.

Because Eddie, who always had Richie’s best interests at heart, felt like Stan was _just settling_ for the first person who showed any kind of liking towards him because Bill had Audra now.

Yes, Stan liked Bill, but Stan liked Richie too. Richie had known this since day one.

And Richie found that over the course of getting to know Bill who wanted to make sure his best friend’s boyfriend was a good person, _he’d_ started to like Bill a little too.

Richie bounced over to the sofa, leaning over the back to give Stan a quick peck on the lips. “Should I ask?”

Stan furrowed his brow, shifting ever so slightly under Bill’s weight to get comfortable. “He’s still hurting, Rich.”

Richie’s expression was soft, and he glanced down to Bill before reaching out to run a hand through his messy hair. “It’s a good thing he has you, Staniel. He’d be in a worse place if he didn’t.”

Stan’s face contorted into a grimace, and the arm Richie hadn’t noticed was around Bill’s waist until now tightened. Richie had always found Stan’s possessive nature _cute_ , and muttered as much under his breath.

Stan shot him a glare. “I just wish he wasn’t.”

Richie smiled sadly, ruffling a hand through Stan’s hair. “I know. We’ve talked about this, Stan.”

“I know. I just… he’s not gonna go for that. It’s _Bill._ ”

“Gee, if only there was something you could do called _talking_ to him. Wouldn’t that spec-fucking-tacular, Stanthony?”

“I fucking hate you, Trashmouth.”

“Love you too.”

Stan was quiet for a moment, simply staring at Richie. Richie who was so _fucking_ understanding. Richie who had developed the same liking for Bill he had because _Bill was just so damn likeable._

“I _can’t_ Rich.”

Richie exhaled sharply through his nose. “Oh Staniel… whatever will we do with you. If you don’t tell people how you feel you’ll lose them.”

“It’s not _fair_ Richie. And I don’t mean on you, because I know you’re okay with the whole… you know… but on him? You can’t just ask someone that.”

“Sure you can. Anyway. Wake him up. I’ll start dinner.”

“ _You’re_ going to cook?”

“I’ll have you know Miss Marsh said I’m allowed to cook without supervision now.”

 

**-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-**

  


It had quickly become some kind of unspoken rule in the group _not_ to mention Audra around Bill or ask how he was handling the break up. They slipped back into their old routine, supporting each other and supporting every little thing they liked. Bill showed up at the studio again whenever Richie’s band was practising, sitting next to Stan and helping him with whatever work he was doing.

And Richie just wanted to stop practising, head over there, and join them. Because the three of them just made _so much damn sense_ to Richie. Stan with his prim and proper attire, Richie with his grunge clothing and taste, and Bill who was somewhere in the middle always in a mix of clothes what Richie and Stan would wear with a skateboard always protruding from his backpack.

Because that’s just who Bill was. And that’s what Audra had hated. She’d never been big on his hobby, and there had been a noticeable decrease in Bill’s skateboard (named Silver owing to Richie spray painting it for god only knew what reason) for the duration of their relationship.

But now Bill was back to his hobby and looking _happier_ somewhat, and that was when the unspoken rule had come into play.

Today they were gathered at the skatepark since Bill had promised to teach a very enthusiastic Beverly how to skate. It was early evening and most people had gone home by now, leaving just the seven of them to enjoy the cool spring night.

They’d thrown a blanket onto the grass next to the halfpipe since _it would be a cold day in hell before Eddie or Stan sat on grass_ , and Richie was lying down with his head on Stan’s lap while idly strumming his guitar. Stan was absently running his hand through Richie’s hair, unable to fight a smile as Richie relaxed under the touch; eyes closed.

Eddie was sitting somewhere near Richie’s lower legs, legs hooked over Richie’s and leaning back into Mike who had his arms loosely wrapped around Eddie’s waist, and next to them was Ben who was enjoying watching Beverly attempt to learn the art of skateboarding.

“No, no, you need to space your feet out a bit more. You have to distribute your weight evenly across it.” Bill said as Beverly wobbled on the board, her grip tightening on Bill’s arms. Bill’s grip on her was just as tight, keeping her as steady as he could.

Because Bill would never let any of them get hurt.

But _they’d_ let _him_ get hurt. None of them had fought hard enough to get him out of a relationship that had been putting a strain on him since day one.

They wouldn’t let that happen again.

“See you got it!” Bill praised, releasing Beverly slowly who teetered only a little on the board before she was standing upright and proud.

“Hell yeah!” Beverly cheered. “Now show me how to move on it.”

Bill laughed good naturedly. “I don’t think it’s safe to do that yet.”

Richie cracked a single eye open, looking in Bill’s direction, his breath hitching in his throat as he played a sudden wrong chord that made Eddie flinch and glare at him. At some point Bill had removed his hoody which was now tossed onto blanket near Stan’s knee; leaving him in a t-shirt that clung to his body and showed off every little curve of muscle and hung slightly over the waistband of his shorts.

It was the first time Richie had appreciated Bill on a physical level since he was always covered by a hoody of some kind.

_Shit._

 

**-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-**

 

Over the next few weeks, Bill had started to notice little things that struck him as either odd or confusing. It had started the day Stan and Richie were waiting for him outside of his literature class, the latter busy texting someone on his phone; only looking up when Stan greeted Bill.

They’d _never_ come to meet him outside of class on a day they had no classes before. Richie shoved his phone into his pocket, snagged Bill’s backpack from him and pulled the strap over his shoulder.

“What the hell are you doing, Richie?” Bill asked, hand falling to his side.

“What’s it look like? I’m being _helpful_ Big Bill.” Richie adjusted the backpack and the end of the skateboard thumped into the back of his head much to Stan’s amusement. “I feel like this thing has it in for me ever since I spray painted it.”

There was a laugh from Stan who was now walking on Richie’s other side, and it just felt so _right_.

The three of the ended up at a local cafe, Richie sitting across from Stan and Bill and paying for every drink the three of them had. Richie had rarely paid for a drink that wasn’t for him and Stan since playing in a bar once in a while didn’t pay all that well, and that struck Bill as strange.

Richie had laughed it off and said it didn’t matter when Bill had tried to give him the money for it, playing with the straw in his concoction of a Slurpee that contained every flavour mixed together. It was gross, and Bill knew that because he’d tried it before. Cherry, Grape, and Coke mixed together was _not_ a good combination. Bill glanced down at his own Slurpee, wondering just how, despite the fact he often drank the different flavours, Richie knew he favoured the coke one the most.

Especially considering on the _very_ rare occasion Richie _did_ pay for everyone else it was a case of ‘drink what you’re given’.

That was how they discovered Beverly was allergic to Cherry.

“So Billiam, how’s class?” Richie asked, lifting his up to his mouth.

Bill looked back up at Richie. “It’s fine I guess.”

Richie arched a curious brow at that, his glasses already fogging from the icy beverage that he was holding up to his face. “You _guess_ ? Billiam you’re a fucking _natural_ at writing.”

“It’s not that it’s…” Bill trailed off, teeth sinking into his lip. And they knew. Audra was in that class. Audra sat right in front of Bill. Bill had to see Audra four times a week for an hour.

“Right.” Richie said, his tone conveying just how much he understood. Bill was grateful for that. He didn’t have to go into detail.

Because Richie and Stan understood him.

Stan threw a napkin at Richie, the item hitting him in the face. “I wish you’d get some damn contacts already.”

Richie placed his Slurpee down and removed his glasses to clean them. “Fingers in my eyes? No thanks.”

“At least you wouldn’t fog up like a damn window.”

Bill laughed. It was genuine. Real. The first laugh they’d heard since his break up with Audra.

Richie paused in cleaning his glasses and grinned. “There he is. Good to have you back Billiam!”

Bill smiled and it was bright and warm. It made Stan smile too, and _that_ made Richie smile. Things were getting back to normal. Back to how they should be.

Stan hoped it would stay that way.

 

**-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-**

 

Richie had never had much patience for bird watching. He found it boring. But Stan loved it, and so he would find himself in fields every Sunday, sitting on a blanket with Stan while he looked through binoculars and consulted his bird book if he saw anything new.

Bill had joined them this time. They figured it would be good for him. The more active he was, the less he thought about Audra. So Stan watched the birds, and Bill idly drew in his sketchpad and Richie sat at the end of the blanket with a pile of daises in front of him, intricately threading the stems together with fingers too long and not nearly as delicate enough for the task like if Stan or Eddie were doing it.

It frustrated him but he tried anyway.

Pleased with his work when he was done, he placed the flower crown onto Bill’s head when they decided to stop whatever they were doing for lunch. The crown fell apart the moment it touched Bill’s head and both Stan and Bill were laughing.

Richie had never seen Bill look so adorable as he did right now with a bunch of daisies sprinkled in his hair, and it brought a red tint to his face that he brushed off as embarrassment due to his shitty attempt to make a crown.

“You _tried_ Richie.” Bill tried to soothe after lunch. Stan had gone back to bird watching and Richie was attempting to make another crown.

“I’ll fucking duct tape these flowers together if I have to.” Richie grumbled, threading daisy stems together to try and recreate the crown stronger than ever.

“I wouldn’t advise that.” Stan said, still looking carefully through his binoculars at a bird in the distance that had caught his attention. “Unless you want to rip out Bill’s hair.”

“Definitely do _not_ want to do that.”

It took five attempts to make a sturdy flower crown, though crown was the wrong term. Richie had used too many daisies and the crown slipped down to his neck where it became a flower necklace instead.

No one noticed that Bill had put the least disastrous attempt of a crow into his sketchbook for safe keeping, and no one knew the flower necklace would be draped over a pin in Bill’s corkboard in his bedroom back at his apartment.

Because Bill liked Richie.

But Bill also liked Stan.

And Bill refused to do anything that would harm their relationship.

Bill knew he couldn’t have either of them.

 

**-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-**

 

Bill avoided Stan and Richie after his personal revelation on his feelings. Or tried to at least. The problem with being the friend of one Richie Tozier was that if you tried to avoid him, he would show up at your door or window, somehow get into your apartment or house and then drag you out.

Richie had done just that, climbing in through Bill’s window (an amazing feat, Bill thought, considering his apartment was four floors up from the ground), grabbed Bill by the arm, and then promptly dragged him out of the apartment to the carnival that was passing through town.

Bill found this odd. Stan hated being in places that were _this_ crowded but he seemed to be enjoying himself; especially when he was able to use cotton candy as a means to shut Richie up by shoving a handful of it into his mouth.

And when Stan turned and shoved a smaller piece of the fluffy blue food into Bill’s mouth it _definitely_ didn’t spurr butterflies that made Bill go: _shit._

Stan apparently didn’t get the memo of _why_ Bill had uttered a curse, his face breaking out into a smile. “I told you the blue one was better.”

“Y-yeah, you did.” Bill tried to compose himself but it was _so damn hard_ when Stan tore off another piece and pushed it into his mouth gently. “S-should have listened.”

“Gee Stan, can you try _not_ choking Bill?” Richie slung an arm around Stan’s shoulders; a painful reminder that Stan and _Richie_ were the ones dating. “There’s better things he could be choking on.”

“Beep, beep idiot.” Stan deadpanned.

Richie rolled his eyes, and then they were walking again, and Bill took careful notes on how they _weren’t_ walking side-by-side but rather on either side of him. As though they didn’t want to remind him that he’d been spending the last two months getting over someone while they were strong as ever.

“No fucking way, _Richard_.” Stan’s voice had brought Bill back to reality. They were standing at the foot of some metallic steps leading up to a ghost train which Stan apparently wanted no part of. “You know I hate this stuff.”

“You’re no fucking fun, _Stanley._ ” Richie complained, his hand suddenly wrapping around Bill’s wrist. “You’ll come on with me, right?”

Bill didn’t have a chance to respond as Richie dragged him up the steps, their feet clanging against the metal while Stan stood at the foot of them; content to wait for them to come back once they were done.

Bill Denbrough was oblivious to a lot of things, but he was _not_ oblivious to Richie slinging an arm around his shoulder and pulling him in so close that he thought he would drown in the smell of his cologne, or the fingers that toyed almost absently with the ends of his hair; something that Bill had only seen him do with Stan.

He _definitely_ noticed when they were getting off the ride and Richie grabbed his hand instead of his wrist.

Stan had only glanced at their hands, arched a brow, and smiled in amusement before they moved on from the ghost train.

They were back to walking either side of Bill, and Bill still didn’t understand _why_ , but the question was quickly overpowered by how _right_ this felt. Being between Stan and Richie like this made him feel safe. It was _comforting_ , and Bill knew he’d never want to be anywhere else.

But that couldn’t happen. He couldn’t have either of them or both.

“Why do you want to go into a house of mirrors?” Stan asked; tone seeping boredom. “We’re not kids.”

“Come on Stan, it’ll be fun!” Richie practically begged.

Stan heaved a sigh, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “Alright.”

And that’s how the three of them found themselves in the empty house of mirrors. Stan, apparently, could navigate the halls easily with precision Bill didn’t know existed. He admired it. Richie, however, was not as lucky and slammed into one of the mirrors trying to reach them.

“ _Fuck_. Who put that there?” Richie asked, rubbing his nose.

“I thought the idea of glasses was to help you _see_ , Trashmouth?” Stan called.

“Well… there’s a lot of fucking mirrors okay? Shut up Stan!”

Bill, who had been following Stan the entire time, stuck his hands into his pockets as he angled his head in the direction he assumed Richie was in. It was hard to tell when there were ten of him. “Should we maybe-”

Stan moved a little closer to Bill, sticking his foot forward to cover an arrow that pointed the way through the house. “Nope. This is what he gets for dragging me in here.”

“But he’s gonna -” Bill was cut off by the sound of Richie hitting another mirror. “Break something.”

It took Richie approximately ten minutes (Stan had timed him) to find where they were standing. He was somewhat dishevelled from the mirrors he’d walked into, but Bill had never seen him look hotter.

“Okay Stan, I get it. No more houses with tons of mirrors. You made your point.”

Stan nodded, pleased with that. “Good, okay then, let’s get moving.”

After Stan had skillfully led them out of the hall of mirrors (in which there had been one incident he’d purposely pointed off to the wrong way for Richie and brushed it off as an accident), they found themselves back outside in the cool october air.

“Glad I dragged you out Bill?” Richie asked, bumping his arm against Bill’s gently.

Bill nodded, a small smile coming to his face. They _loved_ that smile. “Yeah. I’m actually having fun.”

“Good.” Stan said, his tone unfamiliar even to Bill who knew him better than anyone else did.

“It can be like this all the time, you know.” Richie said. “The three of us.”

Bill furrowed his brow. “No it can’t. You two need your time together. I can’t get in the way of that just because I’m single now. You two _barely_ spent any time together tonight and whenever you ask me to go somewhere you don’t sit together and -”

“Idiot.” Stan muttered, shaking his head.

“How am _I_ the idiot when you two can’t see you’re neglecting each other?” Bill snapped, rounding on both of them. Richie was suddenly laughing. “And _you_ , that shit on the ghost train! You meeting me after classes and carrying everything for me like we’re dating? What’s _wrong_ with you? It’s _Stan_ you’re supposed to treat like that, not me!”

This time Stan was laughing.

“Why are you both _laughing_ ? This is _serious_.”

“Bill… we haven’t been neglecting each other.” Richie said, attempting to sober from his laughter long enough to talk. “Oh my god - no - you’re _way_ off. We’ve been _including_ you.”

“You - what? _Why_?”

“Because… we...” Stan paused, his brow furrowing. Bill rarely saw him at a loss for words and he paid close attention to that.

“We want to invite you into a sexy threesome relationship!” Richie blurted out, earning himself an elbow in the stomach from Stan. “Ow - what the fuck Stan?”

“That was so fucking tactless. This is why I said to let me handle it.” Stan hissed. “You’re the biggest idiot ever.”

“Weeeeeeelll… you were taking too long to say _hey Bill we both like you but we don’t know if you’re into this poly thing so we wanted to ask you tonight._ ”

“That’s even worse than you blurting it out!”

This time Bill was the one laughing, grabbing their attention. “You’re both idiots. You could have just… said something. Shit I’ve been avoiding you because I realised I liked both of you and I thought...”

Richie sighed. “Shit we’re all bad at this.”

“Just a big mess.” Stan agreed.

“A big _hot_ mess. Was that a yes, Bill?”

Bill smiled. It was rare and genuine and they’d only seen in once since Audra had broken up with him. “Yeah - that’s a yes.”

“Perfect!” Richie linked his arm into Bill’s. “That puts us at one prim and proper Staniel, one grungey and awesome as fuck Trashmouth, and one in the middle hot mess of a Skater boy named Big Bill!”

And it just felt so damn _right_.


End file.
